by Jackie Lau
He helps me get dressed.
First, he puts my arms through the straps of my bra and fastens it at the back. Next, he adjusts my sweater so it’s not inside out and pulls it over my head, slipping my arms through the sleeves.
Somehow, it’s tender and romantic that he’s helping me put on my clothes, and it makes me want to take my shirt off again.
This man scrambles my brain.
He gets the container I brought the tarts in and walks me to the door.
Did I mention he’s still shirtless through all of this?
Yeah. Josh Yu is shirtless.
And he’s utterly gorgeous.
I gesture in the general direction of his bare chest. “I don’t know how I’m supposed to say goodbye to you when you’re only half-dressed.”
He gives me a half-smirk, then retrieves his shirt from the living room and pulls it over his head. His expression turns more serious as he puts his hands on my shoulders. “I had a good time tonight.”
“Me, too.”
“Want me to call you a cab or walk you to the subway?”
I shake my head. “It’s only a two-minute walk.”
“Text me when you get home.”
He kisses me on the cheek and I walk outside, smiling despite the bitter cold.
Chapter 13
Josh
Here’s the thing about cold showers.
When you live in Canada and it’s winter, a cold shower is the last thing you want, especially when you’re the idiot who walked to the open door without a shirt on.
But it was worth it to see the look on Sarah’s face.
Sarah, the reason I’m considering a cold shower.
She didn’t want to have sex with me tonight, and that’s fine. She enjoyed herself. I’m going to see her again. Those are the important things.
Nope, no cold shower. I’m going to jerk off in a hot shower instead. No point in pretending otherwise.
I turn the water up nice and hot, and I brace one forearm against the wall. I recall the way her lips felt on mine, the weight of her breasts in my hand, the softness of her skin against my chest.
I imagine things we didn’t do. Like bending her over in the shower and...
Oh, fuck, that sure didn’t take long.
I’ve only been out of the shower for a minute when my phone rings. I hurry to my bedroom and answer it.
“Josh!” says my mother.
“Hi, Mom.”
“Did I catch you at a bad time?”
“No, why would you say that?”
“You sound a bit breathless. Like you were running. Or having sex.”
“Mom!”
She laughs. My mother rarely makes comments like that—thank goodness—but she does it occasionally to piss me off.
I’m not laughing. It’s like she could tell exactly what I was doing, and that’s disturbing.
“The reason I called,” she says, “is to tell you that your father and I will come down for the party.”
I clench my fist in victory.
Finally. Finally.
My dad will see my house in Forest Hill. He’ll see all my employees. He’ll see the life I’ve built for myself.
And I hope he’ll be a little proud. Enough so that he might actually say something innocuous to me like, “This Nutella banana pie is pretty good!” Or, “Where did you get these napkins?” Or, “Gee, son, I’m so sorry I didn’t talk to you for seventeen years after you knocked up your girlfriend.”
I shut my eyes at the memory.
Melinda and I were young and stupid. And unlucky.
There was no baby. Melinda had no interest in having one; she wanted to terminate the pregnancy as fast as possible.
Unfortunately, my parents found out she was pregnant, and it was the last straw for my father, who was already pissed at me because I slacked off and partied. “We did not come to this country so our only son could embarrass us like this!”
The situation was beyond my father’s worst nightmare. It was something he couldn’t have even conceived of. (Conceived...haha.) In his world, good kids did not have sex. Ever. Until they were thirty and their parents decided they wanted grandchildren.
Dad wanted to kick me out, but my mother begged him to reconsider. She was sick, and he wasn’t going to say no.
He grudgingly allowed me to stay in the house, and I was determined to get on his good side. I stopped skipping classes. I stopped staying out past my curfew. I cooked on the days Mom had chemo. I joined the school’s math team, even though that was seriously uncool. I got a tutoring job. I taught myself how to program in my spare time because I was bored. Melinda and I stopped seeing each other, though we remained friends.
Her parents were angry at the time, but they’re proud of her now. She’s a gynecologist and prominent sex-ed advocate who’s sometimes interviewed on the news.
I wonder if my father would be proud of me if I went to med school.
It doesn’t matter, though. I never wanted to be a doctor, and there are limits to how far I’ll go to please my family.
But now my parents are actually coming to Toronto to visit me for the first time.
When I get off the phone with my mother, I text Sarah. She’s become the first person I want to share news with, even though I haven’t known her for long. Funny how that happened.
I told her the reason for the party. I told her a little about my family.
It’s rare for me to do that.
I don’t think about what this means.
For now, the knowledge that my parents are coming to my Pi Day party and I have a date with a pretty woman on Sunday makes me smile, and I don’t want to think about anything else.
* * *
“Where should we go for lunch?” I ask Amrita. It’s Saturday, but we had work to do this morning, so we’re at the office.
She responds with a smirk.
Oh, crap. She probably wants to go to the ramen place I hate. Most people like it, but they always screw up my order, and the last time we went, there was a rather painful...incident.
“No,” I say, shuddering at the memory, “we’re not going to the ramen—”
“You’re right. We’re not.” Amrita bounces on her toes. “We’re having pie!”
I groan. I know exactly where this is going.
“The pie place that’s catering your party,” she says, “it’s on Baldwin Street, right? It’s above freezing today, so walking there shouldn’t be too bad.”
“Except the streets are covered in slush.”
Amrita waves this away, her new engagement ring glinting in the rather harsh light of my office. “I want to meet Sarah, and I want to taste-test this pie. Make sure it’s good enough for Hazelnut Tech’s Pi Day party.”
I scrub my hands over my face.
“That reminds me,” she says. “I forgot to ask—how was your date yesterday?”
“Good.”
“I can’t wait to get Sarah’s opinion of it.”
“She enjoyed herself, don’t you worry. No need to ask intrusive questions.”
“Ooh, exactly how good was it?” She gives me an assessing look. “Hmm. You’re a little grumpy today, so I’m guessing you didn’t get laid. Am I right?”
Part of the reason I’m grumpy is that I stayed up late, trying to plan our date tomorrow. Sarah is a foodie; I can’t just take her to any old restaurant. It has to have amazing food. There are hole-in-the-wall restaurants with amazing food, but I want to take her somewhere fancy, where she wouldn’t normally go.
Anyway, I finally figured it out, and since it’s a Sunday, it wasn’t too hard to make a reservation.
“Josh?” Amrita says. “You’re a bit spaced out.”
“Sorry.”
“You going to answer my question? Did you do it?”
I glare at her.
“That’s a no,” she says.
“Don’t get me wrong. There was definitely some nudity.”
“Interesting, interesti
ng.”
“We’re not talking about this anymore, and we’re not going to Happy As Pie for lunch. You can meet Sarah at the party.”
“Don’t you want tender lamb braised in red wine with rosemary and carrots, covered in a flaky, buttery crust? Mm. And pear ginger crumble pie sounds like exactly the sort of thing you would like. Sweet fruit and spices and a crumble topping that’s very...crumbly. And sweet and crunchy? I’m not sure, but I bet it’s delicious. Or perhaps you’d prefer lemon-lime tart, with just the perfect hint of sourness.”
Dammit. Apparently she read the menu online, and now she’s tempting me with descriptions of the food. She knows exactly what I like.
“Can we go?” she asks.
I groan. “Fine. We can go to Happy As Pie.”
Half an hour later, we walk in the door to the pie shop, and the delicious aromas hit me immediately. My heart also starts thumping a little quickly at the thought of seeing Sarah. I feel a twinge of disappointment that she isn’t behind the counter.
“Hi, Josh,” says the woman who’s served me before. I think her name is Ann. “What can I get for you today?”
“I’ll have the braised lamb and rosemary pie, plus a slice of pear ginger crumble pie.”
Amrita laughs. “I’ll have the pulled pork pie and a butter tart.” She cocks her head to the side. “Are you Sarah?”
Ann shakes her head. “I can get her for you.”
“Ooh, yes. That would be wonderful.”
“It’s really not necessary,” I say. “I don’t have anything I need to discuss with her today.”
“Ah, but it is necessary,” Amrita says. “There was that thing...you know, the thing we were talking about.”
“Of course,” I mutter. “The thing. How could I forget?”
I’m conflicted. I can’t help wanting to see Sarah, but I’m not keen on Amrita meeting her. Sarah and I have a pretty good thing going right now, and I’m afraid of what my best friend will say.
“I’ll be right back,” Ann says with a smile.
Amrita and I take a seat and wait for Sarah, plus our pies. There are a few other people by the window, but it’s not too busy.
“Please behave,” I say to Amrita.
She pretends to be offended. “When don’t I behave?”
I raise an eyebrow, then start counting off on my fingers. “Second year. That party with—”
“Hi, Josh.”
I look up. It’s Sarah, and I can’t help but smile.
“It’s so nice to meet you,” Amrita gushes. “I’ve heard so much about you. Josh talks about you all the time.”
“Does he?” Sarah sounds slightly alarmed.
“Almost never, to be honest, which is why I decided I had to meet you.”
Sarah tentatively sits down at the table, as though she’s afraid there’s a whoopee cushion on the seat.
“The other option for lunch,” Amrita continues, “was a ramen restaurant, but Josh had an unfortunate accident the last time we were there.”
Oh, no.
“An unfortunate accident.” Sarah leans forward, a little too interested for my liking. “Do tell.”
“No, don’t tell,” I say, though I know it’s futile.
“Now I’m very intrigued.”
“So, this is what happened,” Amrita says. “On the way to our table, the waitress stumbled and tipped two bowls of ramen onto Josh’s lap.”
“Oh, crap,” Sarah says, a hand coming up to her mouth.
“These were piping hot bowls. Like, the broth was really, really hot. And you know how men can be rather delicate in certain areas? Well. Josh spent all afternoon Googling ‘dick burns’ before going to the doctor.”
Sarah bursts into laughter, then sobers. “Sorry. I’m sure it was really, uh, painful.”
“It was only a minor burn,” I say, “and I handled it like a champ.”
“Yeah, sure you did,” Amrita says. “You were whining all afternoon.”
This won’t do.
“Just to be clear.” I turn to Sarah. “There’s no lasting damage, and everything is in proper working order.”
“Ah, so you haven’t had sex yet.” Amrita nods. “I was right.”
“Amrita,” I say.
She grins. “It’s payback, you see.” She holds up her ring. “I’m engaged, and the first time Josh met my fiancée-to-be, he spent all evening telling her embarrassing stories about me.”
“This is true,” I admit. “There were just so many stories. I couldn’t hold them all in.”
“So now I get to do the same thing to you!” she says brightly.
It’s okay, I tell myself. Amrita isn’t going to tell Sarah about Melinda, or anything like that. The penis-burn story is probably as bad as it’ll get. Maybe she’ll also tell a few stories from university. I was a pretty good kid in those days, studying hard and getting good grades to make my parents proud, but I still went out on Saturday nights. There’s that keg-stand story...
“Anyway,” Amrita continues, “this one time in third year, we were at a party, and some of the guys were doing keg stands...”
Yep, I knew it.
Our pies arrive, and Amrita finishes the story as she cuts open her steaming pie. God, I can’t wait to eat this.
“So tell me about you,” Amrita says to Sarah. “Are you from Toronto?”
“A small town near London called Ingleford.”
“Were you desperate to escape?”
“Very.”
“You won’t go back to your hometown and settle down with your high school sweetheart or anything like that?”
“Oh, God, no.”
Amrita laughs, then digs into her pie. “This really is delicious. Josh was right.”
“What did he say?” Sarah asks.
“Oh, just that your food was as good as a blowjob.”
I almost choke on my pie, and Sarah’s cheeks turn pink. She’s so pretty like that, but this awkward conversation needs to come to an end. Right now.
“I didn’t say that,” I protest.
“I also heard that you stabbed him with a fork,” Amrita says.
Sarah’s cheeks are now practically red. “That was an accident.”
“I know. But even though I wasn’t there, I’m going to tell that story at your wedding one day.”
I jerk my head toward my friend. Still, I don’t feel as horrified by the idea as I normally would, which is...interesting. I haven’t even had a real relationship since Melinda, and I was only a teenager back then.
A few minutes later, when Amrita and I are halfway through our meat pies, Sarah gets up and says she has to get back to work. I give her a quick kiss on the cheek—if I kissed her on the lips, there’s no way it would be quick—before she leaves.
“I approve,” Amrita says.
“She hardly got to say anything because you kept telling embarrassing stories.”
“Was that me? Sorry, sometimes I lose control of my mouth.”
“Sometimes?” I try to glare at her, but I’m in a good mood, because I just saw Sarah and we’re going out tomorrow night, so I end up smiling instead.
Amrita shakes her head. “Man, I’m not used to seeing you like this.”
Yeah, I’m not used to it, either.
And I’m not sufficiently in denial to think that once I sleep with Sarah a couple times, she’ll be out of my system. Oh, no. I don’t think that will be anywhere near enough. The more time I spend with her, the more I want her.
I was her in so many ways.
In my bed, against the door, in the shower.
I also want long walks together. Movies. Picnics. Trips to far-flung locations.
This is uncharted territory for me.
Chapter 14
Sarah
I have a tiny office at Happy As Pie, where I go over bills and orders and business stuff. Sunday afternoon, I walk into the office, and something decidedly unrelated to my business is sitting on the desk.
A pile of used r
omance novels.
Two Weeks with the CEO. Around the World with the CEO. A Secret Baby for the CEO. Pregnant with the CEO’s Twins. The CEO’s Quintuplet Surprise.
I drop the last book in horror.
Five babies? That sounds like a freaking nightmare. Presumably the CEO is rich enough to afford lots of help, but imagine all the diapers!
Dear God.
“I see you found the books,” Ann says from the doorway.
“Um, yes. Why did you get these for me?”
“Because you have a date with a CEO tonight, right?”
“Yes...”
“Inspiration!”
“I see.”
“Don’t tell me you’re too much of a snob to read romance novels.”
“No, no. I’m not much of a reader now, but I used to read my mom’s Harlequins all the time when I was a teenager.”
As I read her books, I’d dream of escaping to the city, having a glamorous life and sophisticated husband...and being the pastry chef at some exclusive restaurant.
My dreams changed somewhat over the years. I nixed the husband. I wanted the career, more than anything; I didn’t have time to search for the perfect man to make a baby—or, God forbid, five identical babies—with me. I didn’t have time for a fancy lifestyle, didn’t have time to go jetting off to Rome with barely a day’s notice. The food industry is hard work, but work I’m totally prepared to do.
I look at the stack of books. “Why am I going out with him? I don’t have time for a relationship. I don’t have time for distractions.”
“Yes, you do. You work too hard. You’ll burn out, Sarah.”
At times, Ann, who’s fifteen years older than me, is a motherly figure of sorts, even though I’m the boss.
I think of my own mother. You’ll never make it.
I have to do this. The alternative is unthinkable. I can’t go back to Ingleford. My high school sweetheart—if Daniel Spiers can even be called that—is unavailable; last I heard, he had a wife, a tractor shop, and a baby girl he’d named after a tractor. I can’t remember which brand, but I remember thinking that at least she wasn’t named Johndeere. And I have zero interest in him anyway, zero interest in living within walking distance of my parents.
I need to make sure Happy As Pie succeeds.
